The King's Closet
by Bai Hikari Tsubasa
Summary: Series of unrelated Magi one-shots, mostly Sinja. There may be spoilers and deaths, so be warned and ratings may change in future.
1. Aftermath

**_Before we start: I'll be compiling my future Magi drabbles in here, so each chapter will most likely be unrelated. There may be character deaths, spoilers and the likes (I'll note them at the start of each chapter), so be warned. Most of these will also be Sinja, with a smattering of other pairings from time to time if I feel like it. _**

* * *

**_*Set after chapter 110 with information from chapter 195. Contain spoilers.*_**

**_This fic is based off nodoka5927 tmblr's speculation about chapter 110._**

**__**_Aftermath_

"You let him get away." Ja'far seethed quietly, subconsciously controlling his breathing even when he was angry – oh no, angry would not suffice, more like _extremely_ pissed off, at a certain violet-haired man, no less.

Sinbad gave a non-committal hum as he continued undressing himself and changing into a more comfortable nightgown. Things were hectic in the first half of the day – a surprise visit from Kou's high priest, the declaration of enmity between Sindria and Kou Empire, the return of the dungeon conquerors…He was in desperate need of a good rest to clear his brain, one which had been denied him by his advisor.

"Are you even aware of the gravity of the situation?"

"I am, now good night." Sinbad waved his hand in dismissal as he flopped onto his bed. _Ah, those soft, inviting-_

Instead of contact with the bed, Sinbad found himself hauled up by the collar and by a very put-off man. Perhaps his depiction of Ja'far as a fire-breathing, six-horned monster wasn't that far off.

"Sin, this is serious. I demand to know why you let the Magi escape just like that." The younger man gritted his teeth. "Things could have been different if we have prevented his escape."

Sinbad groaned. Despite his quick acumen in office work, sometimes Ja'far can be surprisingly stubborn on one aspect. "And what? So you could _kill_ him?" He shuddered to think of the image.

"Yes. The Kou Empire would then lose a huge power force and Al-Sarmen would also lose their Magi. You should have just let me kill him on the spot."

"In case you haven't notice," Sinbad tried to pry Ja'far's hands off his collar with little success, "your opponent is a Magi, one who is loved by the rukh – even if they are black – and have an almost unlimited supply of magoi. This is a one-sided battle."

"You could have let me assimilate! If I can fully tap into my household vessel's power, Judal would not have stood a chance, Magi or no." Ja'far failed to understand why they had let another threat off the hook. As long as Judal lived, Sinbad's life would constantly be in danger.

"Stop."

The command was cold and very uncharacteristic of Sinbad. Rarely would the king employ such a tone unless he was extremely upset, which was never with Ja'far. That shocked the advisor into silence effectively.

Taking advantage of his momentarily shock, Sinbad surprised Ja'far further by pulling the petite man into an embrace.

"Never _ever_ assimilate. Do you even know what you would lose once you complete this final step?" Sinbad murmured against Ja'far's hair after successfully nudging the keffiyeh off. "You would lose your humanity and your ability to walk about in public without being stared at."

Sinbad pulled apart the two of them and held Ja'far at arm's length, studying him intently. "Above all, you would lose an important part of yourself – your beauty. Those soft hairs, freckles and eyes that are beautiful as the darkest night sky," each feature was punctuated by Sinbad affectionately tracing over said feature. "I don't want to lose them. So please, promise me that you will never ever assimilate."

Ja'far allowed the words to wash over him, feeling him with unbridled warmth. Despite being angry with his king, just hearing those words melted away any prior frustration. He nodded hesitantly against Sinbad's hand to seal the promise.

For the sake of Sinbad, Ja'far would do anything, including non-assimilation as well.


	2. Dandelion

**_Dandelion_**

The line between a genius and fool was barely perceptible, and Ja'far was convinced that the happy-go-lucky man in front of him was the latter. After all, who would go to such lengths as to extend hospitality for someone that had almost ended their life a few hours ago?

After living a life of solitude and bloodshed, the young assassin was adamant about his pessimistic worldview. Life was a struggle to survive, not knowing where your next meal will come from and going to extreme measures to obtain those basic necessities. That was how he effortless disposed of the old man in the last city, just in order to have a relatively comfortable shelter; or how he pilfered without blinking an eye, even if it meant plucking it out from a young child's hands. In this world, the fit and rich stay, the old and weak perish just like all the others before them.

That was why it disturbed Ja'far to no ends when his target, instead of escaping or retaliating, offered him food and generosity.

Grudgingly, Ja'far accepted the offer, unable to staff off his hunger any longer. That didn't mean that he didn't try assassinating the man whenever he had the chance, though his efforts were always in vain. The man always predicted his moves and stopped them before they could do any real damage. It was annoying to hear his prized assassination skills laughed off like it was some sort of entertainment, and much more irritating to see the understanding and sympathy from the man's eyes.

So hours turned to days and days to weeks as Ja'far trailed after the young man. With each passing day, the anger he felt initially dissolved towards annoyed curiosity, and the inclination to complete his mission became but a dull reminder at the back of his mind.

"Hey, Ja'far!"

They had just stopped at a marketplace when Sinbad called out to the younger boy in alarm. On instinct, Ja'far casted his eyes about and slipped his hidden blades into his hands. But there was nothing out of the ordinary and the little assassin relaxed his stance.

"What is it?" The question came forth as an irritated sigh.

Sinbad merely carried up the assassin and put him aside. The older boy then bent down to examine something.

Curious, Ja'far looked over Sinbad's shoulder and frowned. It was nothing more than a patch of wild flower that he stepped on, nothing to get alarmed over. Then again, Sinbad always did foolish things, and this was probably just one of the many other foolish things he did.

"It's just a patch of wild flower." Ja'far stated the obvious.

"Do you know what flower it is?" Sinbad inquired as he carefully extracted the plant from the pavement.

"A wild weed that grows in every part of the world." Really, what was so spectacular about the plant?

"Do you know that they are called dandelions? Just like you said, they have a very strong life force and are able to persist in different environments. Unfortunately, people seemed to disregard them as nothing but mere weeds. Nonetheless," Sinbad gave up on pulling the hard weed out of the ground. Instead, he plucked off a yellow flower and placed it in Ja'far's hair. "They are quite pretty, don't you think?"

The assassin flicked the flower off his hair, frowning angrily. "They are just flowers." He stated again, failing to see the aesthetic of the weed.

Sinbad merely shrugged, picked up the flower and tangled it in his own hair instead, "If you say so. Come on, the market fair is starting." He proceeded to drag the child off in the direction of human flow.

Ja'far casted one last glance at the trampled patch. They were just flowers, weren't they?

~oOo~

"Why are you wearing that?" A silver eyebrow arched, following the question.

"The kids made it, so I thought I would honor them by wearing it." Sinbad grinned as he walked down the hallway.

"It looks silly on you." Ja'far commented as he eyed the whorl of flowers on top of Sinbad's head. The yellow petals peeked back at him, and occasionally a white fluffy seed would detach itself and fly off into the wind. Ja'far resisted the urge to sneeze at the detachments.

"Thank you for the compliment," Sinbad executed a mock bow, undeterred by his advisor's critical remark. "You know what? I bet it looks good on you. There." He plopped the flower ring on top of Jafar's keffiyeh.

The ex-assassin sighed in exasperation as he took off the ring. "Please refrain from doing childish actions in the public. Besides, these are just weeds."

"Tut-tut, remember what I told you they were called?" Sinbad said over his shoulders as he plucked the wreaths from Jafar's hands, fingering it like it was something precious.

"Dandelions," the advisor rolled his eyes. Really, the conversation was pointless.

"Yes, and even though they are just 'weeds', they are nonetheless strong flowers that withstood all sorts of harsh weather conditions. In the end, they bloom into beautiful yellow flowers, producing wondrous white balls of seeds that fly off into the winds. I admire their strengths and how they would reestablish themselves in just about any locations." Sinbad turned and placed the flowers back unto Ja'far's head. "Just like a certain someone, don't you think?" He grinned and resumed his walk.

Ja'far froze. Sinbad had thought that he was like a dandelion, and the analogy was surprisingly accurate. He started life by being an assassin, a dirty, murderous nobody, unseen by the light of society. He remembered how people would whisper about his heritage like he was some sort of low life. Back then, life was bitter and devoid of hope. Yet he persisted through all the trials that life threw at him. In the end, he had managed to establish a niche for himself in Sindria and blossomed into the high-ranking, well-respected officer that he was today.

Of course, there was also the possibility that Sinbad literally meant that he looked like a white ball of dandelion seed, what with his white robes billowing in the wind…But he'll rather not ruin the sweet moment with such thoughts.

Ja'far smiled warmly as he touched the ring of flowers on his head.

**A/N: Another one-shot fluff. Hope you enjoy!**

** I'm trying to challenge myself by picking random prompts/ideas and turning them into short one-shots. If anyone has any good ideas, feel free to PM me :D **


	3. In the meadow beyond the sky

Pairing: Scheherazade x first king

Rating: K+

Genre: Tragedy, romance

Summary: There was a legendary meadow in Reim, one which held many memories dear to Scheherazade.

Prompt: _Serenato_ by Kalafina

Warning: character death + spoilers beyond chapter 168

* * *

There were a few things that Reim had been well-known for, amongst them the bountiful harvests, ferocious gladiator rings and the meadow in the sky. The latter was less known amongst contemporary travelers since none had laid eyes upon such a place. Rumors claimed that the meadow dated as far back as the Empire itself. In fact, it might have marked the start of the Empire.

Legend had it that the meadow was a fantastical place, filled by flora with leaves made of gold and flowers of rubies. The wild fauna had furs spun from the thinnest silver thread and eyes that shone emerald in the night. Some even contended that these treasures were the source of Reim's thriving economy. Nonetheless, these were nothing but stories and myths. After all, no one had ever seen the meadow.

In reality, such a meadow did exist, though it hardly measured up to the legends. There were no plants of gold and rubies, no animals of silver and emerald. Once, it was filled with wheat that shone under the sun, which might have initiated the rumors. But after decades of negligence, the current meadow was nothing more than a decrepit field with wild weeds. Even the fauna that once thrived on the land were gone. Furthermore, the meadow no longer floated in the sky like it once did, anchored now by magical vines to the earth. Palace constructions were built around the meadow, efficiently obscuring it from the outside world and prying eyes. Roofs covered the upper division of the field to protect it from precipitation, at the same time robbing it of precious sunlight. The only things illuminating the area were magically powered light sources. Without the soothing feel of natural lighting, it was no wonder that life left that area.

Few knew of the existence of such a meadow, and even less knew of the body inside it. This was the High Priestess Scheherazade's real body. It was laid upon a marbled altar and kept there by magical means, though it was not impermeable to the decay of time. As years went by, the body disintegrated more and more, until it was nothing more than mere skin and bones.

Another new day dawned upon Reim as activities kicked alive with the rise of the sun. People weaved between the bustling markets, travelers strayed towards the infamous gladiator rings and farmers sowed and reaped in their fields. It was like any ordinary day, bright, tranquil, wonderful. The warning bells of war were but a distant reminder, confident as the people were in the prowess of their military. After all, who would dare to confront an army of Fanalis?

Yet Scheherazade knew otherwise. There was something very _off_ about the war, what with the dark djinns creation and black ruths agglomerating over Magnostadt. If her instinct was right – and it usually was – this would be a war that changes the outcome of the world. A change that, unfortunately, she would not live past to see.

You see, if there was anything that the Magi was not deluded about, it was her health. She might have turned a blind eye on the suffering of the world or the bloodshed in the gladiator rings, but she was under no delusions about her lifespan. Too many years have passed with too many wasted magoi, and the time for her real body to disappear from this world was just around the corner.

With these thoughts in mind, she made her way past secret tunnels and winding staircases to the meadow. It was another one of her monthly visits to ensure that the body had not simply crumbled into dust.

Using magic, she parted a path through the wild grasses and approached the altar. The sight of the body always set her on edge, no matter the fact that it was _the _real body of Scheherazade. It was such a frail and delicate thing, so prone to destruction. Gently, she lifted one piece of hair, as if unable to believe that that was herself. Casting her eyes downward, she was met with the sight of a sword lying besides the figure.

The weapon triggered a pang of unwanted nostalgia.

_Did I make the right choice?_

* * *

"Of course you did! What with the great character that I am, of course you made the right choice in choosing me!"

The Magi was effectively startled out of her thoughts by the sudden appearance of her king candidate. Sometimes she wondered why she had chosen such a flirt as royalty, but the answer was clear: the man was like the sun, casting his influence wherever he went. In places he visited, people were pulled from misery. Like the bright flame, people were drawn to his appealing charisma and hidden strength. There was no one else more suitable to be king.

"You are such a fool," Scheherazade narrowed her eyes at the general, showing her distaste for being surprised.

"And you are the grumpy Magi," the man sat himself beside her, uninvited. He produced an apple from his pocket and proceeded to bite into it noisily. "What were you thinking of earlier that had you so engrossed?"

"…Nothing much," Scheherazade replied.

The two of them fell into a comfortable silence. It was times like these that Scheherazade treasured most. She felt at peace, far away from the strives of the world. In addition, she liked to bask in the presence of the man that she held deep affections for. At one point during their journey, the Magi had come to terms with her feeling for the general. But given their different roles in life and the possibility that a relationship would be used against them, the Magi forgo her own emotions and accepted the fact that she was nothing more than a guide. She would support him from the back, make sure that he successfully ascends to royalty.

"Hey, do you believe in Gods?"

The abrupt question brought Scheherazade out of her musings once again. She took a moment to deliberate over the question. "I do and I don't. There are too many definitions and unclear boundaries associated with the concept – one could say that there are no Gods and our lives are directed by the flow of rukhs; yet one could also argue that everything is part of God's creation, including the rukhs."

"You sure like to complicate things," the general smirked to himself. "Personally, I don't believe in God. I want to believe that my actions are entirely of my own volition, and the differences that I made were not some pre-meditated consequence of some other being. Only then would I feel like I am really making an impact in this world."

Scheherazade smiled secretly at that. Despite his confidence, the general still harbored uncertainty from time to time regarding his own actions. It was to be expected from a new king after all. "If that is what you believe in, follow it. Don't let anyone else sway you."

The silence resumed again as they both stared up at the azure sky above, letting gentle breezes play with their hair.

* * *

_If you had known that the sky we used to stare at was now covered by roofs, what would you have said?_ The Magi thought to herself as she looked upwards.

Finally, she sighed and turned away from the body. Some things were best left behind, some regrets best forgotten.

* * *

"I leave the future of this world to you."

It was the last struggle against the blackness approaching this world. In order to defeat the being, Scheherazade had resorted to her last move – the quick release of all accumulated magoi to replenish others' magoi.

The anticipated change would happen soon, and hopefully, it would lead the world towards a better future.

In a blinding flash of light, Scheherazade's clone dissipated into nothingness.

_Where am I?_

That was the first question that came into her mind as she opened her eyes. She was met with the vast expanse of blue sky, dotted by white fluffy clouds.

"You've finally made it here." A deep baritone resounded beside her.

Scheherazade sat up and saw the form of her first king candidate standing a feet off. He still held that same teasing smile, although there was a hint of sadness mixed with it.

Looking down, the Magi saw white rukhs leaving her body in quick successions. "I am dead…aren't I?" The statement came out more hollow than she thought. Death was not something that Scheherazade feared. Being a Magi, she knew more than anyone else that death was only a temporary stage before returning to one entity.

A warm touch surrounded Scheherazade. "Look around you, isn't it so beautiful?"

The Magi finally paid attention to her surroundings and was surprised that it was covered with golden wheat. A refreshing wind passed through her hair, ruffling it softly. Little critters were once again running about the field. The meadow had returned to its original state 200 years prior.

Unable to contain it any longer, tears flowed down the Magi's face as she nodded in answer to the question. _Yes, it is beautiful. Everything is beautiful as long as you are beside me_.

By now, her king candidate was nothing more than a white blob of light. Yet an extension from the white blob still reached out towards Scheherazade. "Come, let us go."

As the light waned, the two figures made their way down a path across the field, their voices like bells resounding in the air.

* * *

**A/N: I actually had a much better version of this fic, but just when I was about to upload it, the computer indicated that the file was corrupted...=A= So instead, I just typed out this version before the general idea left my head (I need to get this idea out of my system). I apologize if this is not that good, if only I have the previous version ;_; **

**Once again, huge thanks to those that review, fave and follow these drabbles. It definitely made my day!**


	4. Dress Code

**Pairing**: Sinja

**Rating**: K+

**Genre**: General

**Prompt**: The picture '朝' by pixiv artist id=788054

**A/N**: Experimental fic using present tense. I think I'll still stick to past tense for my other fics because present tense somehow sounds…really weird… ._.

* * *

Given that Sindria is an island country located in the hot tropics, many people have often wondered about the dress code inside the palace. In contrast to the scantily-clad citizens and sleeveless soldiers, the upper ranks of palace officials were always dressed in heavy folds of fabric that seem rather out of place with the weather.

_Doesn't it feel hot?_

_Yes, very much so, but this is the dress code around here. One has to get used to it._

_But what is the reason for dressing in something so cumbersome?_

_Hmm…good question…the advisor said that we have to be presentable at all times in case of surprise visits. I suppose that is the reason why…_

And so people go about their daily work, accepting the excuse that the thick white robes serve official purposes.

They were right about the advisor being the one that set the dress code, but they were not quite on the spot regarding the reason why. True, the white robes lend an atmosphere of professionalism. Yet the true reason might have been more personal…

~oOo~

"Get up, Sin." Ja'far prods the naked man beside him, receiving only a tired groan in return. He ignores his king's protests as he pushes himself off the plush bed.

Sinbad raises himself up on his elbows as the chilly morning air nip at his skin. "Remind me what we have to do again?" He mumbles sleepily while eyeing the exposed skin of the shorter man. Memories of their late night trysts came back to him and he grins at the angry marks littered across Ja'far's body. That is why he likes Ja'far's pale skin so much. It shows his marks clearly to anyone who look close enough.

"There's a hearing at eight. King Darius of Sasan will be here to discuss a treaty," Ja'far says as he pulls his shirt over his head. He groans at his reflection in the mirror. "Not again."

Sinbad knew Ja'far is referring to the red bite marks decorating his neck. More than once the ex-assassin had complained about the marks because it was 'embarrassing'. Yet Sinbad tends to ignore these complains when they were in the heights of their passion. "They look good on you." He teases.

Ja'far huffs in frustration. It _is_ partly his fault that he didn't stop Sinbad from leaving those bites. "All thanks to you, we have to change the dress code in the palace." He buttons up the collar of his inner shirt and tucks his keffiyeh snugly onto his head.

There. The high collar and long keffiyeh hide the red bite marks around his neck perfectly whereas his robes hide away the scratches. Once again, he is fully presentable.

"Don't be late." Ja'far says, exiting the room quickly before anyone else woke up.


	5. Automaton

**Pairing:** Mainly only child!Ja'far, with a hint of Sinja at the end

**Rating**: K+

**Genre**: General, comfort

**Prompt**: Open your playlist and write about the first song you heard. My song: Petit Fours (full album) by Akiko Shikata

**Summary**: Everyone has a treasure, and Ja'far's happened to be a little Reuge pocket watch.

**A/N**: I laughed when I saw my song choice. It's...certainly a challenge. But hey, I don't think anyone had written a fic based off an instrumental before now. Once more, another quick fic, this time on child!Ja'far. I experimented with a more children story-styled writing (a.k.a a lot of repeating words like 'over and over'). Not sure if this is to everyone's taste.

* * *

_Automaton_

_The animated figures stand_

_Adorning every public street_

_And seem to breathe in stone, or_

_move their marble feet.*_

Assassins are born and bred to be cold-hearted, ruthless night creatures. They become one with the darkness, baring their fangs under the protection of the shadows. As silent as the gravestones that adorn the hills, as nimble as the black cats that thread through the streets, they carry out their missions backed by corrupted people with hearts blacker than the moonless night.

An assassin was not supposed to feel any emotions that might jeopardize their actions, yet one can hardly blame the tiny assassin that crouched now in the shadows, finding solace in a golden vessel.

Tiny tinkers filtered through the dark alley in a soothing melody. The song was occasionally broken by a few cracking notes that were a result of broken pins**. But the user didn't care about the jarred notes as he continued whetting his blades. There was something reassuring about the shattered melody, knowing that the object producing such a song would be broken one day.

Ja'far looked forward towards the day that he would become broken too, so as to escape this desolate life. He finished sharpening his blades and closed the pocket watch, effectively silencing the music. It was time for another assassination.

~oOo~

When he was sure that he had been compensated for his work, Ja'far made his way to another dark corner of the town. There, he would open the pocket watch and listen to its haunting melody.

The little item was obtained from one of his missions where he killed a foreign mercenary. It was standard for assassins to bring back tokens of their kills as evidence of their success. At first Ja'far had wanted to use the exquisite-looking watch as evidence, but quickly changed his mind.

Even though he was an assassin, he was still first and foremost a child. And like all children, he was fascinated by things curious and shiny. The pocket watch was a foreign import, and he was entranced by the design. There would be days where he bent over the object, studying its engravings and functions, but careful enough such that he didn't break the delicate piece.

_An automaton runs automatically, just like you, little Assassin, who runs automatically on command. No thoughts. No desires. Nothing._

One thing that the white-haired child learned was that the pocket watch operated only when he wound its key. This was an accidental discovery on the first few days that he obtained the trophy. After studying the item for days, Ja'far was somewhat tired of the round object, as all children are proned to. He threw the watch at a wall and was quite surprised to see it snap open upon contact. The child bent to pick up the dented watch with newfound interest.

Although he had no education, Ja'far was more astute than most children. After fiddling with it a few more times, he worked out how to open and close the watch and realized that a hole inside the watch fitted with the key that was attached to the watch via a chain. As he twist and release the key, a few notes issued from the object. At the same time, the figures on the front of the watch began moving mechanically.

The bird in the sky began moving up and down. The woman figure stretched her hands towards the man on the ground, in which the man placed his hand in the woman's. The movements repeated over and over until the music stopped abruptly***.

Ja'far, who was entranced by the whole display, panicked slightly and twisted the key. Again, the same melody, the same movements.

That was how the little assassin learned about the function of a Reuge pocket watch.

_That's right, little Assassin, you are wounded up, tighter and tighter, by an invisible key called the Organization. They played you however they like, and you repeat your motions over and over, stab, stab stab. And when the day they stop, you would cease to play, forever frozen just like that._

Ever since then, Ja'far played the instrument before and after he accomplished a mission. He let the soft music wash through him, cleansing him of everything negative. The music was the only thing that lulled him into a dreamless sleep every night. No more nightmares or haunting faces from past victims.

That was why he was so distraught when he lost the key. He failed to kill his target this time. The only choice he had was to run, fast, away from the target before he was caught. In the midst of it all, he failed to notice that the chain attaching the key and watch together had snapped.

Now alone, Ja'far searched frantically for the key. It was bad enough that he failed his mission, that he had let the victim seen his face – although he was still tightly wrapped in bandages, that his nerves were all riled up now because of all the excitement and tension…but he had lost his key. He had wanted to use the music to sooth and reorganize himself, but it was not to be so.

_Oh Little Assassin, what are you going to do now? You have lost the key, the pivotal part of the automaton. Without it, the automaton is but a fancy metal, all ready to fall apart._

The little child sat forlornly in a corner, thoughts akimbo from all the incidents.

That was why he failed to notice the shadow creeping upon him. Only when a hand landed on his shoulder did Ja'far realized his danger. The child spun about, blades in hand as he turned to face his opponent.

The person had retracted his arm immediately when Ja'far turned, in case the blades nicked him.

"Whoa there, I don't mean any harm. But, I notice that you lost something. Here."

Ja'far's eyes widened at the little golden key on the person's palm. Wait…wasn't that his victim? That purple-haired teenager known as the first dungeon conqueror?

"You know, I have given considerable thoughts while you escaped. But I have a proposition for you…"

That was how Ja'far found his key in life, the pivot that changed his fate.

* * *

* Taken from Pindar's seventh Olympic Ode. You can see it here: wiki/Automaton . I did a quick research on automaton (since music box/pocket watch of these types are considered a type of automaton.) And interestingly, if you read beyond the ode in the wiki page, there's a part about Solomon ascending and designing his throne using mechanical animals. Now isn't that double coincidence with Magi?

** "broken pins" - the music box have several objects in it to help it produce sound. There's the ratchet lever, cylinder, pins and base. When the user turns the ratchet lever, it would spin the cylinder, which in turns, plucks at the pins. There are a lot of little pins that would produce different notes.

*** I got the idea from watch?v=IcHnnLOTAzg&list=HL1381716556 where the person shows the Reuge music pocket watch's functions.

Finally, the Reuge music pocket watch is basically a pocket watch that produces music like the one in the youtube video. It is called the Reuge because it was first invented by Charles Reuge in 1865. That said, I don't know what sort of timeline (if there is even one) in Magi, so please do take this lightly. Don't hound me on the timeline ;_;


	6. Season of Gold

**Character: **Alibaba

**Rating**: K

**Genre**: General, family

**A/N:** Fluff. Just plain fluff. _(:3 」∠)_

**Warning**: This is purely my own imagination of Alibaba's past and future, so it may involve some OOCs.

* * *

"Mama, what are those?"

Anise looked up from her laundry at the yellow buds aggregating at the bottom of a stalk. Already the buds held a vibrant yellow color, contrasting sharply with the dull green leaves supporting the branches. Given that Balbadd was just entering summer months, the buds still had some time before blooming.

"Those are the dok khuen ratchaphruek," she looked longingly at the bud-filled branch. They were common in the palace grounds since their golden petals were a delight to behold during the summer season. That was how she met the king originally. She was trying to cut off a few branches for ornamental purposes when the king chanced upon her. One thing led to another and their relationship progressed till the point where she bore Alibaba.

"Doh ku-" Alibaba's face twisted in concentration as he tried to pronounce the word.

"Dok khuen ratchaphruek," Anise giggled as she ruffled her son's hair. Even though she lived a hard life after coming out from the palace, she didn't regret it one little bit. Seeing her son growing up into a fine-looking child was more than she could ask for…

"Hey, what are you still doing here for?"

Both mother and son looked up to see Kassim standing in the yard. He waved at Anise before turning his attention to the other boy. "Come on, I heard that they caught something new in the harbor. Let's go check it out!" Without waiting for a response from Alibaba, he ran out from the yard, towing Mariam behind him.

"Wa- wait up!" Alibaba shouted as he gave chase.

"Be careful!" Anise reminded him. She only received a quick wave of hand from Alibaba before he too, disappeared down the street.

Once the children were out of sight, the smile on Anise's face dropped. Like any mother, she only wished the best for her children. But life in the slum was hardly a suitable place for young minds. She had tried as hard as she could to shield the three children from the darker aspects of the slum, but she knew that the trio was bound to see some things inappropriate. Just the other day Alibaba had asked her what the women standing in the corners were doing*, and Anise had promptly distracted him by giving him an apple.

Nonetheless, Alibaba was a bright child and it was only a matter of time before he figured things out. Anise could tell from his plays with other children that he has good potentials. He was perceptive and street-smart, and those are qualities that could help him navigate through society. The only thing she regretted was being helpless at raising him out of the slums, where she knew his qualities could be cultivated into brilliance.

~oOo~

Summer approached swiftly and the streets of Balbadd was decorated with thousands of golden corollas. The grand sight attracted a lot of visitors from far and wide to participate in the annual flower festival. Historically, the flowers were limited only within the palace grounds. But nature knew no boundaries, and soon, seeds were accidentally dispersed into the town. Within a few years, the plant had taken hold and flourished in the common streets. Only then did Balbadd's royalty decide that they could hold an annual flower festival to spur Balbadd's economy.

The slums were also particularly active during these months. An influx of tourists meant more business. While the adults were occupied entertaining customers, Alibaba and the other slum kids were kept busy as well. They threaded the golden flowers into little pieces of jewelries, hairbands and bracelets that they would then throw upon tourists. After that, they would crowd around the unlucky tourist and force him or her to pay for the trinket**. Fortunately for most of the time, the tourist was wealthy enough and in a good enough mood to pay them. Other times, they were chased by angry guards when the tourist reported them. Even then, it didn't take long for the children to find ways to disperse into the crowd and lose the troublesome guards.

For young Alibaba, summer season would always be his favorite season. He enjoyed looking at the variety of people flooding into the city where he would spend most of his time in the market - whenever he was not forcing bauble onto some poor tourist - hanging around and listening to all the tales of adventures from different tourists. At night, he imagined himself in some of those adventures and dreamt of the day when he would leave the slum. Of course he would bring his mother, Kassim and Mariam along as well, and they would journey throughout the entire world. It was these dreams that kept him hopeful throughout these years.

Another thing that Alibaba liked about the summer were the flowers. Those bright yellow inflorescences reflected his hair color, making him feel less left out. In the slums, he was the only one with fair hair and often found himself the target of ridicule. Even in the town of Balbadd, Alibaba had rarely seen anyone else with hair as bright as his. But during those months where the flowers filled the sky and his hair color complimented the season, he received a lot of positive attention from the visitors. It was only then that he felt less insecure about himself and his unique attributes.

As far as Alibaba knew, only one other person had a similar hair, and that was the 'Old Man'.

The first time Alibaba saw the Old Man was during the flower festival where he glimpsed the figure passing through the parade.

He must be a very special person, Alibaba thought, as he saw all the guards surrounding the man. There were two other mean-looking children trailing after the man, but Alibaba ignored them. He was more fascinated by the man's hair color and how it resembled his own. After some queries, Alibaba learned from his mother that the man was called a 'king'. Back then, the concept was still foreign to him. All he knew was that this king person was supposedly in control of everything in Balbadd.

Well then, he must not be a very nice man, Alibaba thought to himself. If he was nice, his family wouldn't have to live in the slums. They would be enjoying the same sort of lifestyle as other people.

Who would have thought that the not-very-nice-old-man would be the one that came to retrieve him a few years later when his mother passed away. And who would have thought that Alibaba's head of golden hair was a sign of his royal birth.

"There are so many beauties here!" Aladdin smiled as he eyed all the women in the market.

It had been years since the world rid itself of Al-Thamen. Alibaba had accepted his role as the new sovereign of Balbadd with Aladdin as his Magi and Morgiana as his closest bodyguard. Long gone was the self-conscious boy from before. Now he was wiser and more confident in his own actions.

Alibaba laughed at Aladdin's comment. Somethings never change, he thought with a touch of nostalgia. Sure, the days of adventures and irresponsibility was over, but there was a new journey ahead of him. And with any new journeys, there are always rewards. His would be the scenes of smiling citizens in his country.

Today they were celebrating yet another flower festival. Like all those years before them, the flora was a grand sight. People cheered when a wind blew through the canopies, raining down thousands of flower petals. In an instance, the whole street was littered with petal carcasses, lighting up the whole town in a golden splendor.

"No wonder they called this the golden shower tree," Aladdin said as he stared at the sight before him.

"Indeed," Alibaba replied.

Just seeing the petals walked him back on his own memory lanes - the times when he would stare at the flowers during summers long past. Or the times when he would be stringing the buds unto a trinket, trying to compete with the other kids on who would weave the prettiest headband. These flowers had witnessed it all; his progression from a dirt poor nobody to the highest noble of the country.

"Come on, let's enjoy the wome- I mean, food!" Aladdin shouted as he dragged Alibaba and Morgiana with him despite their high status.

For a moment, Alibaba reminiscent the days when Kassim would drag Mariam and him down the streets.

"I'm coming!" the king grinned as he followed the other two out.

Some things just never change.

**Further notes:**

I know Ohtaka based Balbadd off some Mid-Eastern/Indian countries. However, when I saw the Saluja royalty's attire, I immediately thought of Thailand. And my friends pretty much agreed with me that the shirts resembled Thai shirts. So this oneshot is pretty much written with the image of Thailand (with some mix of India) in mind.

* In India, prostitutes would stand around the corners to attract customers.

** Ohtaka mentioned that during one of her information-gathering trips, there were a bunch of kids crowding after her and trying to sell trinkets to her, and I thought that was just too cute to not include it. (I had a similar experience while in Italy OTL)

The flower in the story is called the Dok khuen ratchaphruek in Thai, or golden shower tree. It's a common tree in SE Asia and quite pretty when it blossomed. Historically, there was an actual festival held with these flowers in honor of the longest reigning monarch in Thailand. (more information can be seen here: wiki/Royal_Flora_Ratchaphruek)


	7. My Letter to You

**Pairing: Sinja**

**Rating: K**

**Genre: General, angst(?)**

* * *

The sun was barely over the horizon when Balbadd's port sprang to life. Fisher boats returned to the docks from the vast open ocean, whereas small trade sampans were just starting to leave with their loads. All the preparations need to be done before the market begins.

Ja'far's shop was no exception. He was up before the fishers came back in order to be fully operational by the time the first haul was unloaded. Some of the fishermen sought out his help when they wanted him to speculate the revenue for their fresh-caught products, others needed him to calculate the money exchange rate if the catch was exported.

And as one of the only few educated members of the port community, which meant that Ja'far was never out of work. It certainly didn't help that he was very talented in his work and renowned for quick turnover rates.

As the day progresses, the number of fishermen dwindled and were replaced by merchants, foreign emissaries and long-distanced traders. Now Ja'far's job consisted of helping the new incomers figure out their money exchange, or more often, helping them draft out letters, signs and invitations. Occasionally he was asked to do accounting for new land purchases, but those were rare because the king of Balbadd made it a law to distribute land fairly to every citizens, hence only very rarely was someone able to obtain permission to purchase another's land.

Today was just like any other busy day. The amount of clients was enough to keep Ja'far constantly on his toes as he scribbled down writings and calculations while passing a few light conversations with some of the waiting clients.

Ja'far finished composing a money request letter for a client before turning to the next one. "How may I help you?"

"Could you help me write a letter to my intended?"

"That…Not to come out as being rude, but shouldn't that be a private matter?" Ja'far scrunched his brows together. He couldn't remember ever having such a queer request before. Then again, he never had such a unique-looking client either: The man was relatively young compared to the usual members of the port, in about his late twenties or early thirties. Admittedly, he was quite handsome - he possessed the golden-tan skin that was popular with the ladies nowadays and had long violet hairs that could probably make any female population grow red with envy...or sexual frustration, Ja'far noted wryly to himself.

"You see," the man scratched his head sheepishly, "my intended have an affinity for words and inks, but I am incapable of writing and I heard that your service is quite reliable and professional. I can pay more if you want…"

Any further rambling from the man was cut short by a wave of Ja'far's hand. "It certainly is an unusual request, but since I offered to help write for others, I see no reason why I should turn you down. If you so desire, we can move to the back room so that others cannot listen in on your personal message."

"That would be perfect," the man grinned.

For the second time Ja'far caught himself studying the man's flawless features, right down to those gleaming teeth that flashed at him. He wondered who the lucky woman was to have receive attention from this handsome stranger.

"Please follow me." Ja'far beckoned towards his client and they moved off to the small private room at the back of the shop. "You can sit here." He motioned the taller man over to a bench and began spreading out a clean sheet of parchment on the wooden table between them. When he was done, he sat himself opposite the man with his quill and ink at the ready.

"Let's see…" The client shut his eyes in contemplation. "I apologize-"

"No greetings? How about the name of the woman?" Ja'far raised his eyebrow.

"Sorry, got too excited. You can omit the name for now. My intended probably doesn't want the name revealed especially when someone else is helping me write the letter out, if you get what I mean."

"Fair enough, please continue."

"Hello, how are you? I hope you have been living well since we last met. I apologize for not visiting you as often as I should have. You know, the usual obligations...However, know that there isn't a single moment that passed by without me thinking about your safety and health - By the way, our friends also wanted me to say hello for them. They have dearly missed you as well. Oh, if only you had seen them at the Maharagan festival. They challenged me to a drinking contest. And when it comes to drinking, how could I ever lose? They were already completely drunk when I was still on my third cup of wine!" Ja'far smiled at the client's enthusiasm. He seemed so caught up in his own description of the festival that Ja'far had some difficulty keeping up with him.

The man finally noticed his feverish scratching on the paper and laughed in embarrassment.

"Sorry, I got carried away, didn't I? Anyway, back to the main topic: do you remember what day is it today? Then again, you never remember 'trivial' things...Well, thank heavens you have someone like me to help remind you of the dates. Today is the same date as the day we first met, all those years ago. You used to be such an angry kid back then, even now it still astounds me how much you have changed since that day. I want to let you know that I am very proud of your accomplishments, that I would not have been here today if it hadn't been for your continual support, that I love you from the bottom of my heart...and that I regret very much what happened. If only I have been by your side more often and notice the changes, perhaps things could have been different."

Ja'far frowned. This was starting to sound very depressing for a love letter. The white-haired man looked up when he realized that his client was no longer talking. The former enthusiasm was replaced by a pained, distant expression. He judged that the other's mind was already some place in the past.

"Are you okay?" Ja'far inquired softly. His voice jerked his client from whatever dark thoughts he had.

"S-sorry, I got caught up again." The man tried to laugh it off, but it came out sounding unnatural and harsh.

Strangely the laugh affected Ja'far more than it should. The forlorn expression on that person's face didn't match his features. That expression didn't belong there, Ja'far realized. He sighed and put down his quill.

"I think we should take a rest for a while." In a sudden act of kindness, Ja'far offered "why don't we go to the bar on the other side of town? I heard they have some good wine there, although I don't drink them much. Consider it my treat."

At the mention of alcohol, some of the previous life returned back to the older man's eyes. "Really? I don't mean to impose on you, but at least let me pay for the drinks."

Ja'far waved his protestations aside. "This is nothing, consider it part of my service. Let me go and close the store first."

~oOo~

"And the woman said that she would kiss me!"

"Did she really?" Ja'far smiled weakly. The other man, whom he learned was called 'Sin', was slightly drunk. What had started out as a short rest turned into hours of conversation between the two men. They conversed about anything and everything, from Ja'far's business to the best way to catch a Southern Sea Creature (in which Ja'far was quite at a loss as to how such a task can be accomplished).

At least he seemed to have forgotten about his depression, Ja'far thought to himself as he watched the other man down his eighth goblet of wine. How he managed to stay conscious after so much alcohol was beyond Ja'far's comprehension. "I think it's about time we go back, it is already dark outside."

"Oh you're right, I tend to forget the time when I am drinking" Sin agreed as he glanced outside. "Come on," he slapped money onto the table and proceeded to drag the white-haired man out by the hand despite the younger man's protest of 'I thought I'd said before that I will pay for the drinks!'

Seeing that Sin was intent on ignoring his complaints, Ja'far gave up and followed him silently. He became aware of the older man's hand still wrapped around his own. Initially he wanted to point it out, but the soothing heat engulfing his own hand felt strangely comfortable. The night in Balbadd was relatively cold after all. Unconsciously, Ja'far inched himself closer to the other man to draw some warmth from him.

"Well then, here we are," Sin commented as they approached Ja'far's store. Only then did he released his hold, although not without applying a quick, lingering press. It was so fast that Ja'far couldn't tell if he imagined it.

"Are you sure you can get back safely?" Ja'far asked.

"I may have drink a lot, but I am fine." Sin laughed off Ja'far's concern. "Thanks for drinking with me today."

"My pleasure," Ja'far returned. As he watched the other man turned away, he felt that there was something they were forgetting. "Hey." The other man stopped in his tracks, looking back with a - was that hopeful? - look. "I think you left something in my store." He quickly ran in and brought out the love letter, handing it over to the man. "I am sorry that I didn't manage to complete it, so I won't charge you this time."

Sin took over the letter and smiled in a somewhat bitter way, though it was so dark that it was hard to tell. "It's fine, I apologize for breaking down earlier."

Somehow hating the look on the other's face, Ja'far said "why don't you drop by tomorrow? I am sure we can recompose the letter. That is, if you are still here by tomorrow."

"That would be great," Sin smiled at him. "I will be on my way then, good night."

"Good night." Ja'far casted one last look back at Sin before returning to his abode.

"He didn't recognize you, did he?"

Sinbad looked up as Hinahoho and Drakon emerged from the shadows. He smiled sadly as he tossed the letter into the ocean.

"No. But at least he was able to remember me for one whole day, which was better than before."

"How long are you going to continue on like this? I can't bear to watch you beat yourself over something that was unavoidable. Surely Ja'far would have disagreed with you behavior if he knew." Drakon said.

"I will continue on for as long as possible, even if it takes my whole life to wait until he regains his memories." Sinbad laughed bitterly to himself.

Balbadd's port greeted another new day. Ja'far swiped his forehead as he attended to the needs of the different clients.

"How may I help you?" Ja'far said as he turned around to greet his next customer, a dashing man with violet hair.

"Could you help me write a letter to my intended?"

-END-

**A/N**: Just as a side note, in case things are not clear...but this fic plays off the idea of anterograde amnesia, an illness in which the patients fail to make new memories. In severe cases, they can forget things right after they blink their eyes; so a patient could be re-reading a book for the umpteenth time and still have no recollections of ever reading it. However, a patient _can_ remember all the memories prior to their illnesses and retain working memory (i.e writing, reading etc), they just can't form new memories.

So the basis of this fic is: Ja'far losses all his memories regarding Sindria and Sinbad transferred him to Balbadd because he didn't want people who recognize Ja'far to be calling him all the time on the streets and in the palace (I am sure it is an agonizing experience if you can't recognize someone when they expect you to remember).

Hope this help clarifies things c:


End file.
